


No Cosmic Lover Preassigned

by anisstaranise



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Coitus, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, New York City, Oral Sex, Soulmarks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-22 12:13:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15581760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anisstaranise/pseuds/anisstaranise
Summary: In the dark, he rubbed the skin on the inside of his left forearm just below the crevice of his armpits- his soulmark. The skin was smooth there, no trace that it was marked with a name- the name of his soulmate. But he could feel it there- in his bones, in every move- could feel the curves and the curlicues he knew by heart.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Seblaine Week 2018](seblaineaffairs.tumblr.com/tagged/seblaine-week-2018): Day 2 - Soulmarks
> 
> Title from " _Wicked Little Town (Reprise)_ from **Hedwig and the Angry Inch**.

__

 

 _And if you don’t love me now,_  
_You will never love me again_.  
\- The Chain, Fleetwood Mac

The sheets rustled softly beneath him as he moved to roll off the bed, moonbeams spilling from the bare windows bathing the room in a soft glow. Sitting at the edge of the bed, he peered out at the dark horizon, dotted lights from neighbouring skyscrapers twinkling in the distance. Below, in the distance, the waters of the Hudson River rippled lazily under the moonlight. He stretched, his silhouette moving long and languid against the walls, mimicking the sated hum of his body.

In the light-blue glow of the room, he padded towards the bathroom, the threadbare rug coarse under his feet. He smiled at the feel of them; the well-worn rug seemed so out of place amidst the rather minimalist decor of the rest of the room. It was what made the room endearing-

Endearingly Sebastian’s, he thought, as he turned towards the sleeping figure on the bed; a lanky body stretched on the mattress lying on his stomach. The sheets pooled haphazardly at the hips barely covering the swell of toned ass cheeks, skin creamy-smooth where the soft light kissed it. Mousy-brown hair arranged messily against the pillow that hid half of the sleeping man’s handsome face.

There was a hitch in his breath, the same one he would get every time he looked at Sebastian like this; soft with sleep, at peace and all _his_ \- at least for the night.

An ache bloomed from deep within. He forced himself to turn away, stepping decisively into the bathroom as the door nestled softly in the frame with a quiet click.

He hadn’t bothered turning on the bathroom lights, his eyes already well adjusted to the semi-dark. The stained-glass transom windows set high above the bathtub let in enough moonlight to see. Lifting the toilet seat, he worked to empty his groaning bladder, all the while fighting with his mind to not think about the conversation he and Sebastian had had earlier- before they had fell into what they knew, what was familiar, both unwilling to face their realities, opting to escape in each other instead.

He washed his hands at the fancy pedestal sink, the enamelled surface gleaming pink-blue-yellow from the light sifting through the stained-glass as he caught sight of his shadowed reflection in the mirror. Turning off the faucet, he dabbed his wet hands on his face, breathing slow before returning his gaze to regard his face. Despite the messy thoughts in his head, he could see the glint in his eyes;

He was happy. Happier than he ever knew he could be.

 _But you could be happier_ , a traitorous voice whispered in his mind.

The deep-seated ache returned in his chest. Yes, he thought. There was always a chance he would be happier- with his soulmate.

And Sebastian wasn’t his soulmate.

In the dark, he rubbed the skin on the inside of his left forearm just below the crevice of his armpits. The skin was smooth there, no trace that it was marked with a name- the name of his soulmate. But he could _feel_ it there- in his bones, in every move- could _feel_ the curves and the curlicues he knew by heart.

Growing up, he had always regarded soulmarks as romantic. To have someone out there suited just for him- just the way his parents were, their names imprinted on each other’s skin- to love and be loved by; he loved every bit of the idea of soulmarks.

The moment the clock had struck midnight on his 21st birthday, a brief searing pain had blazed the skin along the inside of his forearm. The writing was dark on his olive skin, the edges flushed red and raw but he had grinned like an idiot, a happiness blooming in his chest; his soulmark had appeared.

A clock chimed somewhere in the apartment, tolling the late hours of the night and coaxing him out of his thoughts. He blinked at the semi-darkness of the bathroom, his thumb still rubbing his soulmark. He often wondered why the Universe deemed to cast a soulmark there on that spot- but whatever the scientific explanation, he liked to romanticize that it was because- when you’re at ease and your arms are loose at your sides, the soulmark would nestle close to the heart.

And that was where soulmates belonged; close to the heart. Needless to say, he had a certain romantic notion of soulmarks.

But as he padded back out into the bedroom, his heart fluttered at the sight of Sebastian- sitting up in bed, his back against the headboard, his body relaxed- looking at him with those soft, sleepy eyes. Not for the first time, he wondered how someone who wasn’t his soulmate could make him feel like this-

Like he was so irrevocably in love.

But he wasn’t, he couldn’t be.

His fingers instinctively shot up to trace his soulmark.

“Hey,” Sebastian called, his voice soft with sleep as the rest of him.

“Hey.”

“Leaving?” Sebastian asked, tone cautious.

The familiar ache panged in his chest. He and Sebastian had been falling into each other’s arms and into bed for the better part of the last six months- and yet- he never stayed the night.

As he strode lazily to Sebastian’s side of the bed, he made the decision not to leave- not just yet. When it came to Sebastian, he was always selfish like that.

“We have time,” he simply said.

 _We have time_.

Even if he merely meant they still had a few hours before he needed to leave- to go home and catch a couple of hours of sleep before he needed to get ready for work- he had consciously chosen those particular words, packed with an underlying meaning.

 _We have time_.

He said it as a comfort, a lie he needed to tell himself that whatever they had, whatever they were doing didn’t have an expiration period.

But it did; and it was looming closer, now more than ever.

He briefly closed his eyes, letting their earlier conversation reel through his mind.

“I met him,” Sebastian had said, stepping out of their heated kiss, one they had shared the moment they walked in the front door.

Feeling slightly dazed from the abrupt loss of Sebastian’s lips, he had distractedly asked, “Who?” before trying to chase another kiss.

Sebastian had chuckled but held him back by his shoulders, far enough apart that he could look up into those impossibly green eyes. And then, it had dawned on him.

 _I met him_.

 **Him** ; Sebastian’s soulmate.

“Oh,” he had breathed and moved out of Sebastian’s reach. “What’s- what’s he like?”

At this, Sebastian had quirked a brow before stepping closer to him. “Exactly what I expected.”

And he knew exactly what Sebastian had expected; old family, old money, old ways.

In the olden days, soulmarks were revered by upper-class societies, considering themselves important in the eyes of the Universe to be bestowed something as significant as a soulmate. It was tradition- the old way- for the match made by the unseen Providence to be honoured in order to maintain or advance social standings and favours by those from old money, old family.

And Sebastian came from one such family; he was a Smythe, one of the oldest families from Virginia who have since settled in Manhattan.

“Do you like him?”

The words had spilled before he could really form a thought, his stomach churning, not wanting to know the answer.

“His name is etched on my skin,” Sebastian answered, chancing another step closer- until their chests were pressed flush once more.

Despite his pounding heart, he had stubbornly held Sebastian’s gaze as he stubbornly said, “Not what I asked.”

Sebastian had lifted his hand to cup his face, eyes dark and serious. A shiver ran down his spine when Sebastian grazed his bottom lip with his thumb.

“He’s not you,” Sebastian simply said before crashing their lips together and striking his breath from his lungs; Sebastian’s kisses always left him breathless.

It was what they have come to know, what was familiar; mouth hot and wet on each other, skin blazing on skin with each touch.

Sebastian had deftly plucked the buttons of his shirt, making quick work on the fly of his jeans. He was already hard and straining against the fabric when Sebastian pulled the garment down and sank down to his knees, licking a stripe up his length before taking him into his mouth.

He had groaned, loud and desperate, lost in his pleasure at the hands of Sebastian. He had fought from letting his eyes flutter closed, wanting- _needing_ to take in the sight of Sebastian’s lips around him. Before long, he had climaxed, Sebastian’s name spilling from his lips over and over, all thoughts of Sebastian having finally met his soulmate drowned by the blissful high of his release; he could stay in that high- and in Sebastian’s arms- forever.

“Blaine,” Sebastian called from the bed, pulling him out of his reverie.

His gaze found Sebastian’s easily in the blue glow of the room, in this private space they called their own- even if it was temporary. And in that moment, he wanted nothing more than to let himself fall- _really_ fall- in love with this man.

But he knew better. He could never-

They only had a semblance of a relationship but nothing firmly rooted, the foundations of what they had, what they were would collapse at the slightest gust of wind. Six months and all of it were behind closed doors, kept firmly under wraps from Sebastian’s family.

The Smythes would never approve, he reminded himself. But even then it sounded like a lie- or half a truth.

Pulling the sheets off of Sebastian, he let his eyes roam hungrily at the naked body upon the bed; the specks of freckles on his skin, the curves and dips of toned muscles, the dusting of light brown hair on his chest and a trail down his stomach to his groin.

Then, Sebastian lifted his left arm and tucked it behind his head, his posture relaxed- but there was a challenge in the way he smirked up at him.

 _Touch me_ , Sebastian silently begged.

And it was then his eyes fell upon that patch of skin, the soulmark legible even in the semi-darkness. Or was it because- like his own- he knew it by heart, just like he knew the rest of Sebastian?

Slowly, he moved to climb unto the bed, gingerly straddling Sebastian. A soft gasp left Sebastian’s lips but made no attempts to move. Steady fingers reached out to trace the soulmark, the touch burning an ache deep within.

Things would be much simpler if Sebastian’s soulmark had bore his name; a bold **_B. Anderson_** on the other man’s pale skin. Then maybe- just maybe- he would believe this was the happiest he could ever be. No second guesses, no _what if_ s.

As much as he wanted to release all inhibitions and fall for Sebastian, deep in the recesses of his heart he would always wonder about his own soulmate. When would they meet? What would he be like? Will not waiting for him be a mistake despite how he felt for Sebastian?

And there was always the Smythes and their soulmark-revering old ways.

Ignoring the seemingly ever present ache in his chest, in his heart, he moved a hand to cover Sebastian’s hardening length, giving him one, two, three lazy strokes. Butterflies flit in his belly at the touch, new yet familiar each time and his heart fluttered at the way Sebastian was looking up him- like he was _everything_. And he was sure that was the expression his face took on when he looked at Sebastian.

Trembling with arousal, he raised his hips to sink down on Sebastian, both groaning at the sensation, the profound pleasure that burned through them. Sebastian moved to grab his hips, fingers digging hard into his flesh as they moved in synchrony- slowly at first, letting himself adjust at being stretched by Sebastian- before frantically meeting his thrusts up with fervent downstrokes.

Looking down at the man beneath him, he regarded Sebastian’s skin shimmering with a sheen of sweat, mouth opened and panting with pleasure- and those eyes, he always got lost in those eyes. Sebastian was beautiful- always, just like this.

The familiar heat of release crept up from his toes and up his legs, settling in every crevice of his body. Sebastian curled a hand around him while the other still gripped his hips tightly, stroking him in time. They chased their highs together and before long Sebastian cried out his name, coming deep inside of him. He followed soon after.

Breathing hard, he dropped forward to claim Sebastian’s lips, soft and lazy and perfect.

There was a chime from the clock again. Another hour up. Another second closer to the end of what he and Sebastian had built on unsteady foundations.

Unsteady.

That was the hard truth; Sebastian had his duty to his family and he had one foot out the door that was eager to take him to where his soulmate was. Their circumstances might differ but they were both bound- in every sense of the word- to their soulmarks.

But as Sebastian laid on his side mirroring his position, their chest pressed together and their nose brushing with every inhale-exhale of their breaths, he took comfort that it wouldn’t all come crashing down- not just yet, not tonight.

They still had tonight.

\---


	2. Chapter 2

_The one you hate to love is made for you.  
_ \- Unsuspecting Sunday Afternoon, Backstreet Boys

It was a gloomy afternoon, overcast skies heavy with grey clouds and the promise of rain. Crisp wind gusted around him causing goose pimples to ripple along his skin. A shiver rolled down his body as he stopped at the crosswalk. As he waited for the light to turn green, his eyes roamed, taking in the sights of the city.

There was something about Brooklyn, he mused. The vibrant artsy graffiti on almost every surface- the sides of buildings, bodega shutters, even the trashcans- and the barrel-front Victorian buildings gave the city a certain kind of charm exclusive to this city across the East river. He promptly took out his camera from the bag settled by his hip, its strap slung across his chest- and started snapping the lively scenes.

Engrossed in all the sights and sounds Brooklyn had to offer, he hadn’t realize the light had turned green until a warm hand settled upon the small of his back coaxing him to move. At the touch, another shiver shot through his body- but he quickly blamed it on the blustery day.

Suddenly his skin felt too tight, his senses hyper-aware of the body next to him but he kept his eyes forward, legs striding urgently before the light turned red again. Once he reached the other side of the street, he finally allowed himself a glance-

Next to him stood Sam Evans- his soulmate.

For the better part of a decade, he had carried his soulmark with pride, conscious of each stroke and loop of the name on his skin. And each day since he had turned 21, he started each day with that underlying excitement of ‘Will today be the day I meet him’.

Then, six weeks ago, the day had finally come.

On a dreary day much like today, he had found himself in Brooklyn for work, his bulky camera bag slung over his shoulder. He had just finished a four-hour photoshoot with a startup clothing company based in the city and his eyes were screaming for a rest after a day of squinting through the viewfinder, adjusting shutter speeds and apertures for the different lighting. His veins trembled for a dose of caffeine.

He had later found himself in a quaint cafe that lured him in with the promise of delicious artisan coffee and mouth-watering pastries. The smell that had wafted through the open door as he passed by made him double back and practically stumble into the cafe.

An hour passed before he had felt relaxed enough to make his journey back into Manhattan. His generous cup of coffee was empty and his plate of scrumptious salted egg yolk cronut had been polished clean. He had just picked up his bags when he saw someone in his peripheral view approaching his table.

“Hi.”

He turned to find a man about his age, blond hair swept back casually almost as if the man had woken up just like that, eyes glinting blue- but what drew him in most was the man’s lips; pink, full, and impossibly luscious.

“Hi,” he had replied.

He had watched as the man shifted his weight from one foot to the other, white teeth pulling in that luscious bottom lip, his handsome face wrought with indecision. Moments passed in silence, both of them standing there, regarding each other.

After a while, it was clear that the man hadn’t intended to say or do anything more, so he had given the man a cursory nod before he started to make his way out of the cafe. But after just two strides, the man called out-

“Your name’s Anderson, right? Blaine Anderson?”

Halting, he turned to regard the man. “Yes?”

The man’s cheeks were flushed, eyes shyly darting to the floor before he had brought his gaze up to him again.

“It’s just- I heard the barista call your name- and I- uh- and I-” the man had stammered, clearly nervous. “I spent an hour contemplating if I should come over and say ‘Hi’ but I was really nervous- I mean- still very nervous-” He chuckled. It was endearing. “-and then you got up to leave and I would hate myself if I never tried to ask-”

Smiling politely, his mind had reeled as he tried patiently to follow the man’s train of thought. A moment or two had continued in similar fashion with the man ranting on- before he had caught himself and stopped mid-sentence.

 “I’m sorry,” the man had said. “Where are my manners?” Wiping a hand on his jeans-clad thigh, the man offered it to him-

“I’m Sam. Sam Evans.”

In an instant, his heart had started pounding deafeningly in his ears, his breath hitching- and it might have been his imagination but he could have sworn that his soulmark had burned.

His soulmark; the dark penmanship of the Universe upon his skin that etched one name-

 ** _S. Evans_**.

Since his soulmark had manifested, he had vigilantly kept a lookout for anyone with the surname Evans whose first name began with an S- but as he grew older, he had resolved to simply wait it out. Looking for his soulmate would take the romance out of it, he had justified.

The thought of his soulmate finding _him_ hadn’t occurred to him before. But then Sam Evans had stood in front of him- all easy charm and kind eyes- explaining how he had been carrying **_B. Anderson_** on his skin for the past six years and had wanted- _needed_ \- to know if he was the **_B. Anderson_** the Universe intended as his soulmate.

He had thought up countless scenarios of how he would meet his soulmate, imagined so many different faces and variations of S names-

But ‘Sam’ in a cafe in Brooklyn on a dreary, blustery weekday hadn’t been one of them. It had almost felt... anticlimactic.

Not to say the meeting had been particularly bad- simply that it was... ordinary; and very un-fairytale-like like he had often imagined. There hadn’t been that feeling of things falling into place and clicking together, hadn’t been the sense where he was finally whole.

A horn blared somewhere down the street, disrupting the memories of his first meeting with Sam. They continued walking down the block as he tucked his camera back into his bag, manoeuvring past the other milling pedestrians, Sam’s hand still at the small of his back.

He tried- and failed- not to wince at the feeling of it. There was a warmth pressing against him, seeping through the layers of his clothes. But it hadn’t felt right; the touch, the gesture, the warmth of it all. It didn’t feel wrong per se- just... _not right_.

He had spent almost every day since that day six weeks ago with Sam, eager to get to know the man who was his soulmate. It was as though he wanted to cram everything he could learn about Sam with every conversation they had- but maybe if he had been completely honest with himself, he would have realized that he might be chasing an idea of what it would be like with a soulmate, that ingrained fairy-tale feeling he had so desperately wanted since he was old enough to know of ‘soulmarks’.

Sam was everything he could have ever imagined a soulmate to be; he was smart, and sweet and funny, and kind. He loved dogs and held doors for others- he spoke often to his family and respected everyone who crossed his path. Sam was aloof and never took things too seriously- but he cared with a passion. And it definitely didn’t hurt that the man looked like something out of Men’s Health Magazine, all chiselled cheekbones and toned muscles.

Sam was perfect, but-

He shook his head, trying to clear his head from thoughts he would rather not be thinking about- of a particular _someone_ \- as they arrived at their destination; the cafe they had met all those weeks ago.

Pushing the door open, the familiar rich aroma of the coffee roasts instantly washed over him. He breathed it in, picking out the sweet, sugary scent of the pastries that lingered in the air.

They reached the counter in record time considering the line ahead of them and Sam proceeded to order while doing an impression of Sean Connery that awarded him both a laugh and an eye roll from the barista. An aspiring comedian, Sam was always practising his varied impressions.

He smiled up at Sam, finding his absurd impressions endearing. He liked Sam, he cared a lot about the man- but- there was always that ‘but’-

Meeting Sam had thrown him off a little, making him question his belief in soulmates. There was something missing, something he had thought innate in the one that bore his name as his soulmark. He didn’t know what that innate something was or would be- he just knew that it was missing.

He ran a hand through his thick, dark curls, desperate to rid his mind of such exhausting ponderings. The past six weeks have left him out of sorts, his elation of meeting Sam slowly morphing into confusion as a hollow feeling had started to take shape deep in his gut, in his chest.

“You okay?” Sam asked as they found a standing table reserved for those who made their orders to-go, one of the cafe’s complimentary doughnut holes in hand.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Tired, I suppose.”

It wasn’t a lie; he _was_ tired- more so than he had ever been this past year. What with all his bookings for photoshoots and his internal philosophical debate on soulmates and soulmarks-

“Double shot espresso for Sebastian Smythe,” a barista’s voice boomed through the cafe.

And he froze, his ribs hurt from the frantic pounding in his chest- an immediate reaction at the sound of the name- and there was thrumming under his skin that he didn’t quite recognize. His eyes swept across the room, his body practically vibrating with nervous excitement and a touch of dread. It had been a little more than two months since he last saw Sebastian.

And then, he spotted him- lean frame clad in a dark green cashmere sweater, perfectly tailored trousers encasing those long legs, hair styled flawlessly; the sight of Sebastian always left him breathless.

He watched Sebastian thank the barista and pick up his drink, the dark drink swirling slightly in the clear mug as he turned away from the counter. And then, Sebastian looked up- and his gaze landed straight on him.

It felt like all the wind had been knocked out of him- yet every fibre in his body was roaring to life, the thrumming under his skin growing in its intensity. They stood still for a beat, both silently regarding each other across the room.

Then Sebastian smiled and started to walk towards him.

“Anderson,” Sebastian greeted, casually placing his order on the table, his eyes boring into him.

“Sebastian.”

“Hi,” Sam said cheerfully. “I’m Sam. Evans.”

He briefly tore his gaze away from Sebastian, his heart banging wildly- and saw Sam extending a hand. _Kind, sweet Sam_ , he thought quietly. Sebastian grinned before clasping his hand in Sam’s, giving it a firm shake.

“I’m Sebastian. Smythe.”

“You a friend of Blaine’s or colleague?” Sam asked, his genuine interest shining in his blue eyes.

“Friend,” Sebastian answered easily as he took a careful sip of his drink, his eyes peering at him over the rim of the mug, giving him a knowing look.

His skin burned under that gaze; of course Sebastian would have figured out Sam was his soulmate. Sebastian knew every corner of his body, every span of his skin intimately; he had traced his **_S. Evans_** hundreds of times before- with his fingers, with his lips, with his tongue.

He watched with bated breath as Sebastian lowered his mug, his pink tongue darting to chance the remnants of the drink from his lips. He knew he was staring but he couldn’t help it, couldn’t look away-

And suddenly- it hit him; the thrumming he felt under his skin- it was happiness- pure, unadulterated, immense happiness.

He hadn’t felt anything quite like it- not since the last time he saw Sebastian.

“One matcha latte and one coffee, black, to-go for Discount Sean Connery,” a barista called, startling him out of his staring.

“That’s us,” Sam announced excitedly. “Excuse me.”

He briefly watched Sam move across the cafe to the counter before he let his sights fall on Sebastian once more.

“So-” he rasped, finally finding his voice. “What brings you out here to Brooklyn?”

Sebastian took another sip of his coffee before answering. “Work, actually. Had a meeting and a site visit. You?”

“Same,” he answered. “I mean- same- as in- for work- not a site visit or what not-”

Sebastian chuckled, the sound sweet in his ear.

“Always the articulate one, Anderson.”

“Shut up,” he said, ducking his head to hide the flush creeping on his cheeks; he even had to bite down on a smile that quirked at the corners of his lips.

When he looked back up at Sebastian, he found the other man staring at him intently, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Every bit of him was singing with joy- and he loved that it was easy for them to fall into banter, settling into place in each other’s lives even after being apart for awhile (10 weeks and 2 days. He had counted).

“You got a contract here in Brooklyn?” Sebastian asked, his long slender fingers drumming lightly on the table top.

“Just some follow up with clients on a job I had a few weeks back. Have to get back to the studio for a meeting later,” he informed. “How’ve you been?”

At this, something flashed in Sebastian’s green eyes, something he couldn’t quite place. Was it sadness? “Been keeping busy,” he answered before elaborating briefly about some of the projects he had lined up.

He listened intently, loving how Sebastian talked about his work with such zeal. He might hail from an old family of old money, but his business, his architectural firm was something he had built on his own. His mind drifted to all their times together- just talking- and he realized, even after so many weeks apart, one thing still rang true; he could spend forever just listening to Sebastian talk.

“But enough about me,” Sebastian said, lifting his mug again. “I want to hear about you.”

A smile broke wide across his face. Sebastian _wanted_ to hear about him, he mused, heart fluttering like a teenager with a crush. He opened his mouth to answer, but then-

Over Sebastian’s shoulder, he caught sight of a head of blond heading towards the milk and sugar station; Sam always took his coffee with too much sugar.

And just like that- he was suddenly reminded of his reality-

Sam, who took his drinks too sweet, was his soulmate. The man standing across from him, who drank his coffee bitter and whose dark green sweater made his green eyes glint impossibly brighter, wasn’t.

A sharp, ice cold pang tore through his body, sending a shiver down his spine, smothering his earlier happiness. He had found his soulmate- and Sebastian had found his.

“I’m having dinner with the Crawfords tomorrow night,” Sebastian had said that last night they had spent together, almost a whisper, his eyes closed but his fingers never ceased their lazy tracing over his bare hip.

They had been lying in bed, their skin clammy with sex and sweat, the dread of _This is the last time_ hanging thick in the air.

“It’ll be my supposed official meeting with Adam,” Sebastian had continued, huffing a laugh but the sound held no humour.

 _Adam_ ; the A in **_A. Crawford_** etched on Sebastian’s skin; his soulmate.

“So it’s happening,” he had whispered.

Sebastian had nodded slowly, almost like the admission caused him pain. Then, Sebastian had kissed him- and it tasted harshly of goodbye.

He let Sebastian pry his mouth open with his tongue, licking inside- and he had rolled on top of Sebastian to deepen the kiss. He had always known this day would come, their time trickling away like sand in an hourglass. He never wanted the kiss to end.

But end it did-

He had considered slipping out of bed while Sebastian slept- but the mere thought of that hurt every fibre of his being. So he waited until morning- the first time he had ever spent the night at Sebastian’s.

 _We have time_.

Sebastian had made them breakfast- and they ate mostly in silence, both afraid that a wrong word could shatter the illusion- _We have time_.

Before he walked out the door, he had pulled Sebastian in for one last frantic kiss. And then, he had pulled away and strode down the hall, fighting the temptation to chance a glance over his shoulder.

“Blaine-”

He had stopped- turning around almost immediately to look at Sebastian- one more time- because he was always selfish like that.

“I hope you find him,” Sebastian had said, a small smile on his lips- then turned to close the door.

A barista calling out an order loudly over the sounds of the cafe brought him out of his own musings and back to the present.

He cleared his throat and tried to swallow around the dry feeling in his mouth at the memories of the last time he was with Sebastian.

“I- uh- I got commissioned to take Clarington’s engagement pictures,” he announced uncertainly. Hunter Clarington was one of Sebastian’s best friends and he wasn’t sure how he would take the news., wasn’t sure if Sebastian wanted him a part of his life in any way- even by extension of his friends.

“I know,” Sebastian said plainly.

“You know?” he asked slightly confused.

 “Hunter wanted the best photographer in town so I sent him your way.”

He knew he was gaping at Sebastian, surprised and in awe. Then, he barked a laugh- loud and happy- because- what else was left for him to do?

“Think you can persuade him to book me for his wedding, too?” he teased.

“He’d be a fool not to,” Sebastian simply said and he caught that something in his green eyes again.

He was busy trying to decipher that something when he realized-

Wedding.

He vaguely remembered Hunter mentioning that he had to potentially fight the Smythes for a venue should both the Claringtons and the Smythes decide to have weddings in the same season. Hunter’s wedding- and Sebastian’s yet-to-be-announced albeit inevitable one.

“I heard that there might be a wedding in your near future, too,” he said, trying to ignore the twist in his stomach and sound casual.

Sebastian merely hummed his acknowledgment- neither confirming nor denying. Somehow, that irritated him- and he felt emboldened to ask.

“Are you?”

“Am I what?” Sebastian countered, his gaze cool.

“Are you getting married?”

He watched as Sebastian’s eyes darted around the cafe, looking at everything but him; it was one of Sebastian’s habits, his tell that he would rather not have the conversation.

“As per my family’s tradition, soulmarks do dictate who is to marry who,” Sebastian said flatly.

“Not what I asked,” he said, the challenge clear in his tone.

Sebastian smirked, which sent his heart rate into a frenzy.

“Hey,” Sam greeted when he appeared next to the table, placing their orders on it, breaking the moment with Sebastian. “I need to make a call. Could you hold these and I’ll meet you outside?”

He nodded dumbly before he made to reach for the cups in each hand.

“It was good seeing you, Anderson,” Sebastian said, already picking up his coffee to find another table.

A crushing sense of disappointment settled heavily in his stomach. He knew it was for the best that they go their separate ways. The Smythes and the Crawfords had made clear their intentions to unite the families through Sebastian and Adam. And he had Sam.

But why, then, did it feel like this, like the mere thought of saying goodbye to Sebastian again was ripping him in half?

He wanted- _needed_ \- to find a way to make Sebastian stay. Just a moment more; he was always selfish like that.

But he couldn’t move, couldn’t make himself speak- and Sebastian was already walking away. There was an ache blooming hard and fast in his chest- and it felt never-ending as he watched Sebastian move across the floor, until-

“Are you happy?” Sebastian asked as he halted just a ways away from the table, that something he couldn’t quite place blazing in his eyes again.

“What?”

“Are you happy- with Evans?”

At that, his eyes instinctively searched for Sam, looking past the glass windows. He found Sam standing idly by the entrance. He wasn’t on a call; he was merely looking up and down the street, possibly taking in the city. It dawned on him that his soulmate had made up an excuse to subtly give him and Sebastian some privacy. _Kind, sweet Sam_ , he thought, not for the first time. Knowing that made him smile.

“I’m happy I met him,” he answered, and it was the truth. Soulmarks aside, Sam had become a friend, someone he cared about.

A smirk curled on Sebastian’s lips. “Not what I asked,” he said. “Take care, Anderson.”

He watched as Sebastian disappeared around the corner of the room before he turned to head outside, soles heavy with each step. His heart felt even heavier.

Once he was reunited with Sam, he handed his soulmate his too-sweet drink and they started walking down the street towards the train station. They passed tastefully crafted graffiti’s and a street performer playing _The Girl from Ipanema_ on his kazoo, but his eyes stared ahead, unseeing.

He was halfway down the block before something clicked in his mind; that glint in Sebastian’s eyes, that flash of something- he recognized it now. He had seen it reflected in the mirror in his own hazel eyes every day for the past 10 weeks and two days.

It wasn’t sadness as he had deduced earlier. It was anguish.

Suddenly, the hollowness inside him felt deeper.

The wind gusted around them but the sky was lightening, the clouds no longer threatening to burst with rainfall. Sam beside him, they walked in silence as he obediently sipped at his coffee in an effort to quash the coldness inside him that had nothing to do with the weather.

Walking down to the platform, he brought out his camera once more in an effort to numb this unnamed ache in him, this anguish- taking pictures of the strangers going about their ways. Like the city, he always found the people of Brooklyn to exude a kind of charm unique to the borough, making them beautiful subjects to photograph.

A busker was singing a familiar tune as Sam moved to throw some loose bills into her opened guitar case. _Kind, sweet Sam_. When he made his way back to stand next to him, he felt blue eyes bore into him.

“So,” Sam said, a small smile curling on those luscious lips. “Sebastian. He’s the one, huh?”

He lowered his camera and turned to meet his soulmate’s gaze. “The one what?”

“The one you’re in love with,” Sam said simply, like it was the most obvious fact in the world.

The sound of an oncoming train rumbled around them, drowning out the busker’s tune. But all he could hear was the riotous rhythm of his heart. He blanched as he turned away from Sam. He watched as the blur of metal and lights and glass windows zoomed by- fast at first but gradually slowing as the train docked at the station.

For almost a year, he had strived to not consider it, to allow himself that one pleasure, that one sureness; that he was in love with Sebastian Smythe. And yet, Sam had caught on after mere minutes of meeting Sebastian. Had all the feelings he tried to hide, tried to deny showed so plainly on his face, in his eyes?

Guilt set cold in his gut. Sam was his soulmate. All his feelings for Sebastian were rightfully Sam’s. That was how soulmarks worked. Wasn’t it?

He shook his head, slowly. Silently.

 Closing his eyes, he recalled the feeling he had felt as he left the cafe to the surface, that _anguish_ of walking away from Sebastian again and letting it wash over him. He then thought of how happy he had been to hear the barista call Sebastian’s name, how breathless the mere sight of Sebastian left him.

The night he had first kissed Sam, he was breathless. But not in the way he felt with Sebastian. Thinking back, he realized it was the kind of breathless you got from physical exertion. And kissing Sam had felt a lot like that; an exertion, something forced. He remembered chasing something in the kiss. A feeling or perhaps an emotion, a sentiment- a _something_. But he never quite found it.

Or was it because he already had?

He breathed out slowly and opened his eyes, seeking Sam’s as the train doors slid open and passengers boarded or disembarked around them. Moments passed as they held each other’s gaze, silent save for the sounds of the station and his racing heart in his ears.

Then, the train pulled away.

“Sam,” he breathed, but no other words followed. What could he say?

The busker down the platform was singing a different song now- something about paving paradise and putting up a parking lot.

“So what does Sebastian do?” Sam asked, a small smile set on his thick lips.

He fumbled back a step, stunned by the unexpected question- and how _at ease_ Sam seemed to be.

“He’s- uh- he’s an architect,” he stammered, startled into honesty. “Has his own firm in Chelsea.”

“Cool,” came Sam’s response, the smile growing bigger. “Have you known him long?”

“No. About a year.”

“Love at first sight?”

He chuckled, unable to grasp how he was having this conversation with Sam so openly. “Pretty much. His firm hired me to photograph their new project in Hell’s Kitchen.”

Sam whistled his amusement as he trailed back a few steps to lean against one of the platform’s pillars. The strums of the busker’s guitar wafted through the spaces between them, singing lyrics about a big yellow taxi taking her girl away.

“Sam, I-”

“So you are, aren’t you?” Sam said before he could finish his thought. “You in love with him?”

The hollowness in him stirred, his heartbeat picking up its pace. He suddenly felt exhausted from struggling with his feelings. And it hurt to not acknowledge it, this part of him that was so obviously Sebastian’s. Taking a deep breath, he answered-

“Yes.”

The change he felt saying it out loud was almost physical, like his chest had expanded substantially because his feelings for Sebastian were finally, finally given their rightful place- to breathe, to flow, to grow.

And because it felt so good saying it, he decided to say it again. “Yes. I’m in love with Sebastian.”

A beat passed as he waited for the guilt to set in, to feel like a bad person for admitting his love for another to his own soulmate. But he didn’t- and Sam clearly wasn’t offended by it judging from his smile. But he kept a close eye on any tells that Sam might be hurt by it.

“Does he know that?” Sam asked, blue eyes blazing into him.

He turned to look at the empty track, the busker’s voice carrying through the almost empty platform. “ _Don’t it always seem to go, that you don’t know what you’ve got til it’s gone_ ,” she sang, and the words hit him square in the chest like a freight train.

He looked back at Sam and shook his head, unable to push his voice past the lump in his throat.

Amidst the countless jumbled emotions within him, one question burned hot under his skin. “Sam, are you mad- at me?”

Sam huffed a laugh so sudden and loud that it made him jump a little. “Of course I’m not mad. I’m glad you told me.”

“Only after you asked.”

“Yeah- but, I mean, you could have told me off and said it was none of my business,” Sam said, running a hand casually through his golden hair. “You could’ve lied about it, too- but you didn’t. You trusted me enough to tell me.”

And it was true- he did trust Sam. He had confided in his soulmate his many wishes and fears and aspirations in the short time they had known each other. It was easy talking with Sam; he listened intently and never judged. _Kind, sweet, Sam_. He always thought he would have to share everything with his soulmate- every dream, every thought- like it was this unspoken rule between those who bore each other’s soulmarks. But with Sam, he found that he _wanted_ to, not because he had to.

“I’d never lie to you,” he admitted.

Sam let out a sharp huff of breath, something anxious glinting in his eyes as he pushed off from the pillar and chanced a step closer. “I need to tell you something.”

His heart jolted. “What is it?”

“I- I’m ” Sam started but stopped himself after a moment, mouth gaping open-closed-open like he was willing stubborn words to roll off his tongue.

He closed what little space was left between them, their chest almost pressed flush. He could feel Sam’s heart racing, beating wildly against his chest despite the little gap between their bodies. He reached out to place a hand on his soulmate’s shoulder, “You can tell me anything.”

Sam forced out a breath. “As much as I am attracted to men, I find that I’m more attracted to women.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Sam dropped his gaze to the gritty, tiled floor, his face growing a shade redder.

“You’re bi.”

Slowly, Sam lifted his gaze back up to his face. “Yes.”

His brow furrowed slightly, confused as to why Sam would be reluctant to share this part of him. “Is this something you think I’d disapprove of?”

His soulmate shrugged, eyes darting away now. “It wasn’t so much that you disapproved- more like you wouldn’t give me a chance, wouldn’t want to get to know me.”

The confusion seemed to grow as he wondered if ever in their six weeks together he had given the impression that he would be prejudiced against someone’s sexual orientation, against bisexuality.

When neither of them said anything for a few moments, Sam started to elaborate-

“Growing up, my parents always said that the best thing to happen to them was their soulmarks, that they ended up with each other’s names. And that they knew- one day- I’d be happy and in love with my soulmate.”

Something twisted inside him at the familiarity of Sam’s story; it mirrored his beliefs, his parents’.

“When I got my soulmark, I was excited,” Sam continue, his hand flying up to his left arm, thumb tracing the inked skin he knew to be under his sleeve. “I wanted so badly to meet my soulmate, to meet you.” Sam gazed down at him, a small and sad smile on his lips. “And then I did. And you’re this gorgeous, smart guy and everything I ever imagined in a soulmate.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” he joked lightly.

Sam laughed; he loved making Sam laugh.

“I really like you-” his soulmate said. “- and I thought if I told you that I’m bi, and that I liked girls more than I did guys- I’d lose you- because of that notion that soulmates are supposed to be madly in love with each other- and I don’t-” Sam paused as he took a breath, clearly collecting himself before continuing, “- I don’t know if I can be _that_ \- with you.”

He watched as Sam cringed as his own words, so plainly fearful of what his confession might incur. He let the admission wash over him, carefully trying to understand the meaning of it all. It was clear that Sam didn’t see a romantic future for them together- but they had kissed. He thought back to the handful of kisses they had shared- sometimes they were bruising and hungry, sometimes they were slow and sweet.

And then it dawned on him- he had always been the one to initiate the kiss, not Sam. Had he unknowingly forced his desires unto Sam in his desperation to fill the void in him by chasing kisses that Sam had felt pressured to reciprocate? His stomach twisted at the thought, making him feel faint.

“Why did you let me kiss you?” he asked softly.

“Because I wanted to kiss you, too,” Sam simply said, blue eyes shining with sincerity. “Because I like you and thought maybe- we could work- romantically. I thought I owed it to our soulmarks to try.”

At the words, he felt something much like a dam break inside him.

_Don’t it always seem to go, that you don’t know what you’ve got til it’s gone_

For more than six months, he had shared something blissful with Sebastian, had even fallen in love with the man. But he had held back- all because he had adhered to his soulmark, to abide by the unseen conditions set by the Universe- and by extension- his parents. His mother and father- as well as Sam’s- were fortunate- lucky, even- to have found love in their soulmates.

But did it lessen the profoundness of a love if the person you were in love with wasn’t your soulmate? Did it justify for someone like Sam to force a feeling and deny himself a chance at the real thing just because he felt he owed it to his soulmark, to some unseen Providence?

The dam broke with a resounding _No_ and a new found understanding; things didn’t fall into place the moment you met your soulmate. Throughout life, you collected pieces in the forms of experiences you have had and the people you have met and the lessons you took to heart. It was through these pieces that you build something entirely your own. You chose which pieces went where in the mosaic of your life.

 _Chose_.

 He had a choice, and so did Sam. And they owed their soulmarks absolutely _nothing_.

A train screeched somewhere in the distance, the sound travelling intrusively along the dark tunnel. He reeled back slightly at the force of his epiphany. It was curious to think that he could unlearn what had been indoctrinated in him for years in the span of a few moments.

But perhaps it wasn’t about unlearning it- more that he had learned something new; about himself, about how he viewed his world now. And perhaps it wasn’t a span of few moments- because he had changed considerably since he had met Sebastian, and since he had met Sam.

Slowly, he raised both his hands to cup Sam’s face, holding it firm- because he needed his soulmate to hear this, to understand it-

“You don’t owe your soulmark anything, Sam,” he said. “Not a thing.”

The smile that grew on Sam’s face shone so bright he could swear it shamed the sun.

Before long, the train docked at the station.

Amidst the throng of passengers spilling onto the platform, he moved to link his arm with Sam’s. And just before the doors slid shut, they chose to board the train together.

\---


	3. Chapter 3

_And there’s no mystical design,_  
_No cosmic lover preassigned_.  
\- Wicked Little Town (Reprise), Hedwig and the Angry Inch

The susurrous chatter of the bar was soothingly familiar, a welcomed comfort after the fast-paced week he had had. A baseball game was on, displayed on a bright LED screen fixed above the liquor display behind the bar. It was the only thing that seemed modern- that and the bulky Wurlitzer jukebox with pulsing neon lights wired to hi-tech speakers strategically placed around the room- considering the that fact the rest of the bar seemed to be stuck in the late 1960s.

He surveyed the room, taking in its dark wood booths and the low-hanging pendant light fixtures. The sturdy oak bar counter top gleamed even in the low light and the worn psychedelic-print upholstery was comfortable even if it didn’t look it.

A crack of billiard balls punctuated the murmurs of the bar, the players throwing playful jibes at one another at the pool table in the back, blending effortlessly with the buzzing commentary from the television and the din of conversations. He closed his eyes to let the familiarity of the sounds wash over him- but it did little to calm the jitters rattling inside of him.

He opened his eyes to glance towards the door for what could be the hundredth time in the span of five minutes- waiting, expecting. He tapped his foot restlessly against the wooden support rung of his bar stool, keeping time with the frantic beat of his heart. When the door stood closed, he peered down to his watch- again; it was ten minutes past 8, ten minutes past the scheduled time of the meeting.

Sighing, he took a sip of his beer, his shot of whiskey untouched. As much as he would love a boilermaker to calm his nerves, he had decided to wait. He needed to be clear-headed for when-

A draft of crisp night air swirled in when the bar’s door creaked open, distracting his train of thought. He instinctively turned- rather sharply that he briefly wondered if he had suffered whiplash- in its direction. The time was eleven minutes past 8 when Sebastian Smythe came striding into the bar.

His breath caught at the sight of the man, his pulse jumped wildly under his skin. Sebastian was dressed in a light blue shirt under his long black coat. The garment billowed gracefully around his knees as he walked, those long, lean legs clad in soft grey tailored trousers. Sebastian looked breathlessly gorgeous.

The moment Sebastian slid onto the stool next to him, he caught the clean, crisp scent of the other man’s cologne, mixed in with the woody cedar of his aftershave and he couldn’t help his eyelids fluttering closed as he let the smell wash over him.

Oh god, he missed this man so much.

“Boilermaker, Anderson?” Sebastian asked, resting his crossed arms on the countertop, peering at his drink. “That kind of week, huh?”

His eyes flew open as a warm feeling swooped in his belly at the sound of Sebastian’s voice- and the fact that the man knew exactly how his week had been judging from his drink of choice. He smiled against the rim of his pint glass as he took a sip, more to relax his rattling nerves than any other reason.

“It’s been busy-” he said, turning to peer up at Sebastian. “-but good busy, y’know?”

Sebastian nodded curtly in understanding before flagging down the bartender.

“I’ll have the same, Frank” Sebastian ordered, gesturing towards the boilermaker- and in no time, Frank, the bartender slid a half-full pint glass and a shot of whiskey in front of him.

He watched as Sebastian picked up the shot glass with his slender fingers and dropped it into his beer. The beverage fizzled as it mixed and Sebastian quickly raised it to his lips to sip it before any could spill over.

“It’s that kind of week for you, too?” he teased.

Sebastian huffed a laugh as he reached somewhere behind the counter for a napkin. It was endearing to see this man manoeuvre around with such familiarity; this bar had always been _their_ bar. A sweet kind of ache panged deep in his chest as snippets of memories they had shared in this bar flew through his mind:

The night after they had first met.

The night he had kissed Sebastian.

The night it rained heavily and they were caught under the bar’s window canopy- and Sebastian had kissed him senseless.

New Year’s Eve.

The night before it all ended.

“I feel like it’s been that kind of week for months,” Sebastian said- but despite the smile on his lips as he said it, the heaviness hanging in the admission could be heard plain as day.

“Works been good, then?” he asked, although he knew- he just knew- that that wasn’t what Sebastian had meant at all.

He wasn’t trying to skirt around things, around the reason behind this particular meeting with Sebastian after months apart- and he certainly wasn’t here to talk about their work. But he wasn’t ready- lest Sebastian got up and walked out if he were to go straight to the point; he was always selfish like that.

Sebastian raised a brow but didn’t call him out on it. He merely took another sip of his drink before going on about the progress of his current projects- the art centre he designed in Harlem, the rustic office building in SoHo, the restoration of a colonial building being converted into apartments in Brooklyn- and talking about each one animatedly, with such passion.

He had always loved listening Sebastian talk about his work; the way he never droned- but _really_ talked about them, how his cadence changed when he was talking about certain designs, or relaying his visions for the site of a new building. His voice would be quiet, contemplative even, when talking about buildings with a lot of history- or the way he would sometimes sprint-talk about a newfangled design he had in mind. It was clear Sebastian absolutely loved his job.

That was how they had met about a year prior-

Sebastian’s firm had hired him to photograph one of the newly completed buildings he had designed- a 20-floor apartment building erected tastefully in between two low-rise colonial buildings here in Hell’s Kitchen. The design itself was elegant- not in the fancy, intimidating style of the Upper East Side, but harmonious in the way that it complimented the old-fashioned buildings it was sandwiched between. It blended nicely with the neighbourhood, lending it its charm.

They had flirted back and forth as Sebastian walked him around and through the building. He took hundreds of frames of pictures that day- but his favourites were all of Sebastian; Sebastian, as he stood on the sidewalk and looked up at the building. Sebastian, as he looked out of the penthouse window, the late morning sun bathing him and Manhattan below.

He remembered stalling as he took pictures upon pictures, reluctant for the day to end. And Sebastian had seemed more than happy to indulge him. Once it was clear he had nothing left to photograph, Sebastian had sauntered close as he packed his gear and invited him out for drinks that very night.

Amidst his reverie, he caught the distinct sound of Ella Fitzgerald wafting through the bar. He turned to the colourful jukebox by the wall where he found a couple standing close; the man was looking through the glass at the selection songs as the girl sang along. He could pick out her clear voice singing- _These foolish things remind me of you_ \- and tilted his head back towards Sebastian.

Everything reminded him of Sebastian, he thought. Morning coffees, lights by Chelsea Pier, this bar- _everything_.

It took more than a few seconds for him to realize that he had been staring- and Sebastian had stopped talking. He felt a flush creep on his cheeks when Sebastian smirked knowingly, clearly amused.

“I must say-” Sebastian said after the silence- and the staring- stretched on too long. “- I’m surprised you called.”

He winced slightly at the fact Sebastian left unsaid: _Because of Sam_.

“I’m surprised you came,” he countered. _Because of Adam_.

He knew it might be unwise to have made the call to Sebastian, to invite him for a drink- especially with how things were progressing between the Smythes and the Crawfords. He supposed an engagement announcement was to be expected in the society section of local newspapers before winter. But he had always been selfish like that.

When it came to Sebastian, he was always selfish.

And he was hopeful- hopeful that Sebastian felt the same way he did, that he was in love.

“You should have seen the way he looked at you,” Sam had said the night after running into Sebastian in Brooklyn.

He had tried to brush it off, to ignore that ray of hope that stirred in his chest. “And what way is that?”

Sam had looked pensive, deep in thought before he answered, “Like a mirage of an oasis in the middle of the desert.”

He had scoffed. “Well, that’s specific.”

“That’s how I think he looks at you,” Sam had continued. “A man parched in the desert searching for water- and he finds it, this oasis- but it’s only a mirage. Like you’re something he wants so badly- but cannot have.”

He remembered the way he stopped breathing, his chest hurting where his heart thundered. Sam had seen right through him- that he was in love with Sebastian. Did Sam see through Sebastian, too?

With that, he had hope.

“You should give him a call,” Sam had said.

And that hope had emboldened him to finally call Sebastian.

Holding on to the way that hope had made him feel, he bravely asked the one thing he dreaded:

“How are things with Adam?”

He saw Sebastian flinch slightly- and tried to cover it by gulping a mouthful of beer.

“As well as could be expected,” Sebastian said flatly- but he could see the moment his shoulders sag. “I only see him when our families get together- dinner, Sunday brunch- that kind of stuff.”

And there was that ray of hope shining a little brighter; Sebastian wasn’t in a relationship with his soulmate, nothing outside of familial duties.

“I’m glad you came,” he breathed, chest hurting slightly at the weight of hope.

Sebastian turned away from his drink and looked him straight in his eyes. “Does Evans know you’re here? With me?” he gritted.

He recoiled slightly at the unspoken accusation in Sebastian’s questions- but he supposed it was warranted; he hadn’t seen Sebastian since that day in Brooklyn two weeks ago, and even longer before that.

“Y-yeah,” he stammered. “This was sort of his idea.”

He watched as the lines of Sebastian’s body tensed, darting his eyes away from him and up to the now-muted screen still showing the baseball game.

“Sam and I aren’t- involved,” he finally said, gathering his nerves.

At this, Sebastian turned to look at him, green eyes sharp and glinting.

“We’re friends,” he said, drawing out his words, desperate for Sebastian to hear all the things in between the lines. “Platonically,” he added after a beat.

Platonically. Nothing romantic- but Sam had come to mean so much to him.

After coming home from Brooklyn that day two weeks ago, he had found himself sprawled over a blanket on the roof of his apartment building, Sam by his side, looking up at the night sky. There hadn’t been stars that night, the horizon still heavy with potential rain clouds.

“We might not be in love-” Sam had said, face towards the open sky. “- but you _are_ my soulmate.”

“Yeah,” he had breathed, feeling an imaginary burn along his soulmark. “Soulmates.”

Sam had let his head fall sideways to face him. Feeling Sam’s eyes on him, he had turned to mirror his position, looking at that handsome face that beheld a kind of sincerity he had never encountered before; it was so uniquely Sam.

Then, his soulmate had said, “And more importantly, you’re my friend.”

The swelling within his chest had felt almost unbearable. Just when he had thought he had reached his limit with his being in love with Sebastian, his heart had now made room to love another.

They were two distinct kinds of love, but love nonetheless.

And he loved Sam; his soulmate, his friend. _Kind, sweet Sam_.

The song from the jukebox changed and he was immediately pulled out of his thoughts by the rich sounds of Otis Redding singing one of the songs he loved;

 _I’ve been loving you- too long- to stop now_.

Sebastian merely looked at him, silent save for his breathing that was slightly laboured now- and he could feel those green eyes searching his face. He could see all the things that Sebastian was saying without words; _Evans is your soulmate. It’s what you’ve always wanted_. His mouth opened slightly as though to dispel those unspoken words but when Sebastian finally spoke, he only asked, “Why?”

He smiled, chest aching from the openness on Sebastian’s face; the slight, confused crease on his forehead, the twitch at the corners of his mouth at the onslaught of questions or remarks he knew were at the tip of Sebastian’s tongue- but most apparent of all was that hopeful glint in his eyes.

Hope that mirrored his own.

He weighed all the possible words he could say to convey everything in his heart while his pulse raced as his veins throbbed and his skin itching with too much of this feeling- this love he harboured for Sebastian.

“He’s not you,” he said, finally.

He didn’t miss the catch in Sebastian’s breath- or the way his eyes widen a little more before turning back to his drink, his glass almost empty. He watched as Sebastian called Frank for two more boilermakers- then wordlessly slid the drink in front of him when the bartender set it down on the bar, his eyes trained on the countertop.

Sebastian avoided looking at him but he didn’t move his leg from where their thighs were touching. They both had moved exponentially closer without even realizing it- and every bit of him roared to life at the touch. It had been too long that even this small form of contact was making him dizzy.

“I miss you,” he said, pouring all that he was into the words. “I miss you, Sebastian.”

The music from the jukebox changed to something upbeat and heavy on the trill of strings, the blow of trumpets. Sebastian was quiet as he stared ahead. His eyes traced Sebastian’s profile, the sharp lines and tender edges, feeling something break open in his chest.

Oh god, he missed Sebastian- and he loved him.

A moment passed before Sebastian finally turned. Their eyes locked and he could feel the air rushing out of him. Hope burned bright in Sebastian’s eyes, setting him aflame-

“I miss you, too, Blaine.”

\---


	4. Epilogue

_Tell the world that we finally got it all right_.  
\- I Choose You, Sara Bareilles.

The studio strobe light flashed when he pressed the shutter release button, his eyes squinting through the viewfinder. He snapped two, three more times in succession before he pulled the camera away to check his work on the camera’s display screen.

Swiping past the last few frames, he inspected the lighting exposure on each picture, his trained eye weighing the composition. A moment passed before a satisfied smile broke across his face.

“I think we got it,” he said proudly.

He turned to regard the man sitting on the stool against the white backdrop in his studio, blue eyes glinting, golden-blond hair slicked attractively, luscious lips tinted slightly pink with gloss; Sam Evans, the subject of today’s shoot.

“Really? That’s it?” Sam said as he pushed off the stool to stride across the room.

He walked to his work desk, its surface messy with his photography equipment and test Polaroid shots from previous shoots. He bent over his opened laptop, scrolling through all the frames of Sam’s shoot that were already synced to his computer, chest puffing with quiet pride at his work.

“Yeah, we have all the shots. With a little editing, your headshots will be good to go,” he announced.

Sam came to stand behind him, peering over his shoulder at the screen.

“Wow,” Sam breathed. “Those look really good.”

He preened as he straightened up, busying his hands with disassembling the short telephoto lens from the camera to store. He took great pride in taking care of his equipment. It was an extension of his work, of him- and he always felt the love and care he took with all his photography accessories translated in his photos, just as much as the care he took in finding the right lighting and setting the best compositions.

“Thanks,” he said, turning to smile at Sam.

“Now the pressure is on,” Sam breathed, the lines of his body suddenly tensed. “I gotta nail this audition to do these awesome headshots justice.”

He barked a laugh, resting a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“These headshots are just the tip of the iceberg, man. What’ll nail this audition _and_ land you the gig is what you can do,” he said as he gave Sam’s shoulder a squeeze, his pride for the man ringing clear.

Sam was talented- and his passion for comedy, along with the multitude of skilled impressions he had in his arsenal made him an asset; any production or company would be lucky to have him. It would only do to take the best headshots for his talented friend.

A smile tugged at the corners of Sam’s lips. “Yeah well, I’m lucky to have the best photographer take my shots for me.”

“Doesn’t hurt that the subject is as good-looking as you, Evans,” came a voice from behind them.

He whirled around to find Sebastian striding into the studio balancing a large box of pizza in hand, the door slowly closing behind him. His heart raced at the sight of the other man, as it was known to do every single time.

“You flatter, Sebastian,” Sam huffed with a smile, meeting Sebastian halfway.

He watched as the man he loved and his soulmate exchange an elaborate handshake before pulling one another in a half-hug, shoulders bumping each other. A warmth crept through every crevice of his being- and he was immensely... happy.

“Alright, I’m off-” Sam announced as he gathered his jacket he had strewn across the studio’s ratty-but-comfy sofa. “Got that date.”

He smiled knowingly; this was Sam’s third date with Quinn, a girl he had met at one of his auditions- and things seemed to be getting serious. “Good luck,” he said with a wink.

“You love birds enjoy your night,” Sam said, throwing a playful salute before bounding out the door.

Finally alone, he gravitated towards Sebastian, his arms circling around the other man’s waist.

“Hi,” he whispered, looking up at this man he loved with his all.

Sebastian smiled down at him before leaning in to kiss him, deep and slow and perfect.

“Hi,” Sebastian breathed against his lips when they broke apart, one hand rubbing soothing circles down his back while the other still balanced the pizza box.

Stepping away from Sebastian, he inhaled deeply, breathing in the scent of cheese and tomato sauce and pepperoni. “That smells amazing.”

“Fredo’s pizza is the only pizza anyone should ever have,” Sebastian said haughtily as he parked himself on the sofa, opening the box on the coffee table.

He rolled his eyes at that. He loved Fredo’s. He could practically eat their pizza every day for the rest of his life- but it was all the way in Chelsea.

Chelsea; where Sebastian lived.

He didn’t miss all the subtle ways Sebastian had been building his argument over the past week that he should move to Chelsea, to move in together- and laying out Fredo’s pizza superiority was one of Sebastian’s latest tactics. He bit down on a smile; little did Sebastian know his apartment was already mostly packed. He was simply waiting for Sebastian to actually _ask_.

They ate slice after slice, talking about their day. He mentioned his latest booking with a florist in Harlem, hired to photograph their array of flowers for their website. Sebastian, in turn, talked about his designs for a renovated brownstone commissioned by none other than Adam Crawford.

Sebastian had invited his family and the Crawfords to dinner a few months back- and very gently told them that he wasn’t going to honour his soulmark by marrying Adam. His parents were surprisingly accepting of his decision. His mother had been upset in the beginning and his father had merely sighed but they later ensured him that they supported him- whatever he decided. They had only wished Sebastian would have told them sooner- because the Crawfords were scandalized. They had promptly returned to London that same week.

On the other hand, Adam had been rather indifferent, telling Sebastian he was happily married to his work. Adam loved travelling around the world buying and collecting real estate. His company would restore or embellish the properties and then put them back on sale for a much handsomer price. Adam had wished Sebastian the best of luck and went on his way- but not before hiring Sebastian to handle designs on all of his New York-based properties.

They worked well together, Sebastian and Adam. The handful of their completed projects turned out beautifully. Perhaps that was the reason why the Universe deemed them soulmates; they were two halves of the same coin in their line of work- and they made magic together.

And then it had dawned on him; soulmates don’t necessarily mean lovers. Love, yes- but not lovers.

Sirens blared somewhere in the distance, the sounds of the city punctuated with the occasional honk, snapping his attention back to Sebastian. He regarded the way his mouth moved as Sebastian talked around the bite of his pizza. He smiled at Sebastian, feeling his love for this man grow a little more with each passing minute, before taking a bite of his own slice of pizza.

As he chewed, his eyes fluttered closed and he groaned in pleasure, the delectable combination of tastes exploding in his mouth. When he opened his eyes again, he found Sebastian gazing at him, green eyes bright and serious.

“You know-” Sebastian said, dusting his hands of crust crumbs. “- if you lived in Chelsea, you could have Fredo’s for breakfast, lunch _and_ dinner- every day.”

His heart stuttered a beat. “Is that all I could have every day if I lived in Chelsea?” he teased.

Sebastian gave him a blinding smile and scooted closer, tracing a thumb over his lips. He trembled at the touch.

“You could have me- every day- for always,” Sebastian breathed.

He swallowed hard. _Sebastian_. _For always_.

“Move in with me, Blaine. Let’s make a home together.”

In an instant, he dropped the remnants of his pizza and reached out to cup the back of Sebastian’s neck, pulling him in for a deep, hard kiss.

 _Sebastian. Home. Together_.

“Yes,” he answered breathily as he pulled away from Sebastian’s lips.

Sebastian gave him that blinding smile once more, a hand resting on his left arm. His skin was aflame where Sebastian was running circles with his thumb over his soulmark. He let his eyes fall to Sebastian’s hand, to the soulmark that was under his shirt sleeve.

He had asked Sebastian once if he should consider covering his soulmark with a tattoo, concerned that Sebastian might be unsettled by the sight of a name that wasn’t his.

But Sebastian had merely shrugged. “Doesn’t bother me if it doesn’t bother you.”

Their soulmarks were a part of them; their bodies, their lives. But they loved each other regardless of the names on their skin. And they were no longer bound by their soulmarks.

They had a choice-

And they had chosen each other.

\---END

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.  
> Comments welcomed.


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